I'm still here
by lignocainer
Summary: <html><head></head>He thought I'd gone, but I never left his side...</html>
1. Chapter 1

Peering round the corner, I see the source of the loud crash I heard a moment earlier. A shopping trolley lays on its side, 2 men in a heap beside it, giggling.

"Ow, Leroy, your driving skills are dreadful," slurs the smaller of the two men, staggering to his feet, "And look at the state of my jeans! I am never getting in your taxi again!"

"'S not my fault trolleys don't have brakes, or any steering. Anyway, it's YOU that was too drunk to walk home, so I had to take the trolley, wasn't it, Vince?" Leroy shot back, still giggling. Pulling the trolley upright, he set off at a run, jumping on the back of it as it picked up pace.

Still fussing about his jeans, a ridiculously tight white pair, the knees ripped out in, what I presume to be, some terribly trendy and up to date fashion statement, the dark haired young man lurched towards the door, fumbling with his keys. After a few attempts, he managed to unlock the door and staggered upstairs. I follow behind him, watching as he trips and nearly falls back down the stairs, desperately wanting to reach out and steady him. I watch as he flops down on the sofa, surveying the damage to his precious clothing, the white now marked with dirt from his altercation with the floor, blood staining one leg, leaking from a graze he has yet to notice. I watch as he becomes aware of this, stares at the droplets of crimson, struggling to comprehend the wash of colour from his ivory skin. A closer look at the injury told me it wasn't serious, just a nasty graze, although that didn't stop my urge to clean it up for him, make sure it didn't get infected. I notice the small shaman who has just entered the room, rubbing his eyes wearily, clearly woken by Vince's less than quiet arrival home. Sighing, he sets to work, washing the blood away, the young man hissing and squirming and throwing his head back as the antiseptic stings the fresh wound. Vince always was a drama queen. I long to comfort him, brush his hair out of his face, tell him it will be ok. I would quite happily pander to his attention seeking, if I could. But unfortunately I can't. I can't because I'm not really here anymore. I went away, I left him, but I didn't go far, I'm still here, watching over him.


	2. Chapter 2

I remember the day I left like it was yesterday but then I suppose I think about it every day, wondering if there was anything I could have done to have things turn out differently. It was a Friday night, no different from any other. We were at the Velvet Onion and he was having a blast. He had just done a set with whatever his latest band was called (it seems awful that I can't remember their name, but back then he was in so many bands that it was impossible to keep track) and, as usual, the crowd had loved him. He had been throwing shapes as though his life depended on it, his clothes clinging to his thin frame, leaving nothing to the imagination. The little tart! The audience had loved it, and I had loved it. In that moment, I was so proud of him. Sure, he could be a little titbox when he wanted to but there, up on stage, he was finally showing the world 'Vince Noir, Rock n Roll Star', as he had always promised. And then, all too soon, it was over. Once offstage, he had worked the room, flirting with anyone that made eye contact with him, and plenty who hadn't. He drank the endless drinks put in his hands, kissed the eager lips, pouted for photos, and stole the attention of everyone in the room.

Some time later, I had found him in the bathroom. He was staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror, although from the way his eyes rolled in his head, I doubted he was seeing very much. His eyeliner was smudged and someone's lipstick was smeared across his face, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Come on little man, time to go home."

He had shaken his head stubbornly, reaching for the half empty drink which was balanced precariously on the side of the sink, at the last moment changing his mind and darting into the nearest toilet stall, emptying the contents of his stomach into the dirty porcelain bowl. Holding him close to keep him upright, I had guided him through the club and out into the cold night air, hoping it might sober him up a bit. Instead it just made him shiver, his thin silver t-shirt offering little protection from the biting breeze. The twenty minute walk home was going to take hours, each step forward accompanied by a rock back and a lurch to the side and I had contemplated leaving him outside the venue while I ran home to fetch the van, but decided I couldn't trust him to stay where he was and not go wandering (well, staggering) off.

It was at that moment that a taxi screeched around the corner (in retrospect, this wasn't exactly a good sign), the passengers jumping out right next to us. Somehow escaping my grasp, Vince slid onto the now empty back seat of the cab, earning himself a filthy look from the sullen driver.

"Are you getting in or not? I'm not taking him alone, he can barely sit up, how's he gonna give directions?" he had snapped impatiently.

"M'fine, just wan' go home," slurred Vince, really not helping his case at all.

Stupidly I had agreed, having to take the front seat as Vince had already fallen asleep sprawled across the back. I was pleased to note, however, that somehow he had managed to fasten his seatbelt prior to passing out, clearly my constant lectures on the importance of being safe had registered with him.

The next thing I knew, we were rounding a corner far too fast, the back end of the car flicking out, the driver wrestling with the steering wheel, trying to regain control, sending us directly into the path of an oncoming bus. And then there was nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

I never felt any pain, which I should be thankful for, I guess. Suddenly I just wasn't there anymore, I was here. When I had read about out of body experiences, I had always thought it would be quite scary or confusing to be looking back at yourself, but it's not. I didn't grieve for the shell I had once inhabited, I just felt completely detached. There was one thing I wasn't completely detached from though. I felt myself being pulled towards the back of the car and noticed for the first time the ambulances parked there. A team of paramedics were hunched over a trolley, working on the small figure who lay there, unmoving. I didn't need to see the shock of black hair to know who it was.

I followed as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, strapped down to a spinal board, head supported between 2 blocks, plastic neck brace digging into his chin. It looked so uncomfortable, I just wanted to shout at them to stop it, to be careful with him but I knew they were only doing their job. As they grabbed his arm and prepared to insert a needle into his wrist, I shouted that he hated needles, whispered to him that it was going to be ok. No-one heard me though. How could they?

The journey to the hospital seemed to take forever. The paramedics spoke to one another in some kind of secret code and I could only watch and worry. He was so pale and so fragile looking. Blood seeped from a dressing above his left eye. I hoped it wouldn't scar. Vince would hate that. They kept shining a light in his eyes and trying to make him squeeze their hands. I wished they'd just leave him alone. If he woke up, he'd be in pain, better to let him sleep for a while, I was sure.

At the hospital it was even worse. They cut all his clothes off him. He would be furious about that. I stayed with him and watched it all. I supposed normally people weren't allowed to be present during all this but since I wasn't really there, they couldn't really stop me. They prodded and poked and ran scans and x-rays and I stayed through it all, still not understanding a word of the 'medical speak'. I looked over their shoulders at the x-rays of his neck, chest and back, not having any idea what I was looking at. I was relieved when the collar and straps came off and I was able to go over and place a kiss on his still white cheek, soothed by the gentle sounds of his breathing. I could still smell the strawberry bubblegum scented shampoo he had used that morning. I had told him it made him smell like a cheap tart. He had seemed to take this as a compliment, but then he had a way of turning everything into a positive.

Then, suddenly, they were wheeling him off again, faces full of concern. I followed, with no clue where I was going, stopping as we passed a sign marked 'operating theatres'. I didn't think I could face watching them cut into him, so stayed where I was, pacing the corridors, looking like a madman. Or, I would have looked like a madman if anyone could see me. Fortunately they couldn't.


	4. Chapter 4

I saw a flash of blue at the other end of the corridor, followed by a large lumbering figure. Naboo and Bollo. I had never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life (er, should that be death?). Hurrying over to them, I stood nearby, comforted by their presence, even though they couldn't see me. They were led into a waiting room and I watched over them as they fretted, the shaman's normally expressionless face creased with worry, the ape rocking backwards and forwards, his eyes never leaving the door.

Finally a tall man with glasses entered the room. Introducing himself as Mr Franks, he shook Naboo's hand and eyed the ape with suspicion before sitting down.

"So, Mr Naboo, you are Mr Noir's next of kin?"

"Er, actually I think that's probably Howard but he, er…." Naboo bit his lip, unable to continue.

"Howard die in crash. Is precious Vince going to die too?" finished Bollo, getting straight to the point.

"Mr Noir sustained some serious injuries in the crash. He has a fractured pelvis and was bleeding internally. We've managed to stop the bleeding in theatre and have fixed his pelvis temporarily but he will need to undergo further surgery on it when he's more stable. We're giving him a couple of units of blood which should help but his condition is still critical. He should be out of theatre shortly, if you want to see him."

Naboo nodded solemnly. "With Howard gone, he's going to need us there. Does he know about Howard yet?"

"He hasn't regained consciousness since the accident, I'm afraid."

A nurse poked her head around the door, announcing Vince was out of theatre and we all followed her along the corridor. He lay pale and limp in the bed, barely recognisable as the flamboyant sunshine kid who had lit up the club only hours ago.


	5. Chapter 5

The shaman and the gorilla kept a bedside vigil all day, watching as the doctors tried in vain to get some response from the unconscious figure. Naboo and Bollo tried talking to him about clothes and sales at Top Shop but to no avail. I even tried to lure him in with a crimp, forgetting he couldn't hear me. Strangely, just after this, the other two seemed to have the same thought, crimping as though their lives depended on it, ignoring the strange looks they were receiving from the nurse outside the room. I joined in with them, desperately searching Vince's face for signs of recognition. And there is was, an almost imperceptible movement of his lips, a slight twitching of his hands, and Vince was back with us. He let out a loud groan, eyes fluttering open, wide and scared.

The doctors chased everyone out. I stayed. They couldn't really ask me to leave. They tried to ask Vince questions but he just mumbled incoherently, screwing his eyes up against the bright light they insisted on shining at him. His breathing was ragged and shallow, as though the simple act of filling his lungs with air was some great effort. Slowly he started to calm down, his eyes finally starting to comprehend the doctors surrounding him, the sterile looking hospital room, the bed he was laying on, the monitors that beeped around him. His tongue snaked out to moisten his parched lips but still he did not answer the endless questions fired at him. Instead he uttered one single word.

"Howard?"

"Mr Noir, you and Howard were in an accident…"

I didn't stay to hear the rest. I couldn't bear to see his reaction to the fact I had left him. I was supposed to be his best friend and I had abandoned him when he needed me the most. I made myself sick. What kind of pathetic excuse for a human was I? Silently I made my way back to the relatives waiting area, needing to be close to Naboo and Bollo, even though I couldn't talk to them. Entering the room, I leant back against the wall, almost sliding right down it in shock when Bollo nodded at me.

"Y-you can see me?" I whispered.

The ape nodded again.

"Bollo see lots of people. Sometimes it get confusing. Dead people look grey. Old people look grey too. Bollo not know whether some people dead or just old."

"And Naboo?"

"I can't see you, but I can hear you," the shaman affirmed.

"What about Vince?" I had enquired, stupidly thinking, just for one minute, that things might be ok.

"I'm sorry Howard, it doesn't work like that. Bollo can see you because he's an animal. Even shamen usually don't have any contact with the dead, except in very rare circumstances."

I tried not to be too disappointed.

"You'll tell him though? That I didn't leave him?"

Naboo shook his head sadly.

"Mortals aren't supposed to have any contact with the afterlife. It destroys the natural order of things. If he found out you were still here, it would be too much for him to handle. It would drive him crazy."


	6. Chapter 6

Shortly after this, the doctors had led us, well, them, I suppose, back to Vince's room. My heart broke to see him so thoroughly destroyed and with nothing I could do to make things better. Staring vacantly at the ceiling, his hand clenched and unclenched, grasping at his hospital gown, whispering to himself, again and again.

"No… no… no… no…"

Apparently he had been this way since they'd told him of my death.

Eventually the anguished whispering subsided and he fell asleep, drained and exhausted. The preceding hours had been tough for everyone. Naboo and Bollo had worked tirelessly trying to elicit some response from my traumatised best friend but to no avail. They tried every crimp under the sun, even a couple of the Flighty Zeus ones, but to no effect. Nurses came in to administer medication and he didn't even acknowledge their presence. Even when a large needle was produced, he didn't flinch. If it hadn't been for the ceaseless mantra escaping his lips in increasingly hoarse whispers, he would have seemed as dead as I was.

The nurses finally persuaded us to leave, insisting that we needed some sleep as he would need us when he woke. I noticed how tired and tiny the shaman looked as he and the ape headed back to the flat. I had considered going with them but realised I had no need for sleep anymore. Instead I paced the endless corridors, nose assaulted by the scent of strong coffee from the overpriced cafeteria, a pleasure I realised, sadly, I could no longer enjoy. Before long, my concern for Vince dragged me back to his bedside. I perched on the edge of the bed, hand resting lightly on his, mindful of the drips that wrapped around his arm, forgetting I could do no damage. I watched him sleep, peaceful, at least for a short time, hoping that in his dreams he could escape the nightmare that was around us. I watched him stir, squirming slightly and giving a gasp of pain, reminding him of where he was and what had happened. I watched his eyes glaze over again, the emotion drain from his face as he tried hard to forget.


	7. Chapter 7

For days he refused to talk and just seemed to withdraw from everything. It was heartbreaking to watch. The doctors came and explained his upcoming surgery, using terms I knew he wouldn't understand, but he simply shrugged and signed the consent forms with little interest. He came back from theatre, clearly in pain, but refusing to admit it, the button to release the morphine laying untouched by his pale hands. His precious hair became lank and limp. Bollo did his best with dry shampoo and a hairbrush, but Vince barely even seemed to notice. They put food and drink beside him, Bolla even brought a selection of his favourite sweets, but they all went ignored. They sent a psychologist in to see him but he just stared straight through her. Naboo looked more and more tired every day, dark circles under his eyes telling that he was staying up each night trying to find something that might help.

A couple of weeks later, Naboo insisted I came home with them. I had barely left Vince's side since the accident, sitting in silence except at night, when I would tell him stories, remember all the good times we had together. I knew he couldn't hear but it was a way of keeping him alive in my mind, that is, keeping the real him alive, not the shell of a man that occupied the bed in the room I now called home. In a way it was a relief to actually be able to spoken to and heard but being back at our flat just reminded me of how empty it seemed without Vince.

"There must be something you can do, Naboo. It's breaking my heart seeing him like that."

"I've been speaking to the shaman council and they all agree, there's only one thing we can try. We need to give him what he's missing. He fell apart when you left, so we need to give you back to him."

I frowned at him, confused. How was that possible? Could they bring me back? I knew they were shamen but I didn't think their powers stretched that far.

It turned out I was right, they couldn't bring me back. Instead they wanted to distil my thoughts, memories and messages to Vince into dream potions. Despite sounding quite exciting and magical, I was disappointed to find out that the reality involved me talking to a special shaman video camera (well, a regular one wouldn't exactly manage to record the ramblings of a ghost now, would it?). It made me think of those videos that chronically ill people record for their loved ones to watch after their deaths, cringing as I realised that was almost exactly what it was, although I was recording them after death. After a rather embarrassing display of my now legendary 'chokes' I finally managed to record a short piece talking to him about the adventures we had when we were at the zoo, reminding him of the time we were almost killed by mod wolves, saved at the last moment when they recognised him as being 'king of the mods'. I thought about adding an 'I love you' to the end, but then remembered the time I'd told him in the Tundra, and thought better of it.

Naboo then had to play back the tape (the shaman didn't really believe in digital recording) through a video player hooked up to a crystal ball and somehow managed to turn the contents of this into a potion. I didn't really understand how it worked but there had already been so much going on in the past few days that I didn't want to trouble my overtaxed brain with worrying about the finer details.

I had kept watch over him all night after the potion had been injected into him through one of his collection of drips. I could tell the exact moment when the potion had taken effect. His face had suddenly relaxed, looked more youthful, and even the angry gash on his forehead looked paler. A smile played across his lips and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And then it ended. His eyes opened and he looked around the deserted room. And then the tears began to stream, silently, down his face. He made no attempt to wipe them away as they soaked the pillows, sheets and his hospital gown. A nurse brought him a box of tissues, but he made little effort to use them. Bollo spent the afternoon's visit, trying his hardest to keep up with the endless flow of tears, giving up when eventually the whole box of tissues had been used, and Vince still showed no signs of stopping.

Eventually he had fallen asleep again and Naboo had injected in the second of the potions. In this one I reminded him of the time he had fought off Kodiak Jack, beaten Nanatoo and how he was now the King of Camden. I told him how much everyone was missing him and begged him to fight and get well for me. I wasn't sure what format these dreams would take, whether he would hear my voice or not, but just in case, I actually had to record this last bit 3 times, desperately trying to mask my tears.

The second potion had a similar effect when he was sleeping, but the reaction when he awoke made me wonder if Naboo had a clue what he was doing. My poor injured friend was absolutely hysterical. Violent sobs racked his body as he sniffed and gasped for air.

"Howard, come back. Please come back. Please Howard. Please," he wailed between shaky breaths. A nurse stroked his hand and tried to calm him, but to no avail. Eventually Naboo was called as Vince was, by now, disturbing the patients in the other rooms. Fortunately he was already on his way back for the evening's visiting time so didn't take too long to arrive, but even the presence of Naboo and Bollo couldn't calm the traumatised young man.

We decided to try one final time, all of us certain Vince couldn't take much more heartbreak. Despite Naboo's earlier warnings, I had managed to sneak in that I was still there, watching over him, and that I'd never leave his side. Whether Naboo had decided this was vague enough or if he was just desperate enough to try anything, I'm not sure, but he allowed me to leave it on the recording. I just hoped it would have the desired effect because we were fast running out of ideas.

Thankfully this time he woke up calmer.

"I can feel you, Howard, I know you'd never leave me," he whispered to himself.

Whether this was true or not, it was like music to my ears. I watched him look down I at his broken body, as if finally taking in the extent of his injuries for the first time. Slowly lifting his hands, his eyes widened as he spotted the cannulas protruding from there, bruises from their insertion marking his pale skin. He tried to sit up, crying out in pain and settling back against the pillows, head thrown back in agony. His eyes darted round in confusion as he struggled to make sense of what was going on. Quickly he spotted the call button and stretched out to reach it, his hand shaking with the unfamiliar movement after so many days in a state of inertia. Within seconds, a nurse appeared at his side.

"It hurts, it really hurts", he croaked out, "can you give me something for it? I have to get out of here, I have to go home."

"Shush now, calm down. You're not going anywhere for a while, I'm afraid. I'll go get you some pain relief, just try to relax. Can you tell me where exactly it hurts?" she asked, concerned by his current increase in pain after barely seeming to register it for the past few days. As she pulled back his sheets and removed his gown to examine him, Vince's mouth dropped open in shock as he saw the angry black and blue bruising of his broken ribs, his brow creasing in confusing as he eyed the large dressing covering his hip. Experimentally, he tried lifting his leg, wincing and turning to the nurse in surprise.

"I can't move my leg, why can't I move?"

"You broke your pelvis and your ankle, hon, don't you remember?" she asked kindly.

He shook his head, running his hands through his hair and scrunching his nose in disgust.

"Ugh, my hair is disgusting," he muttered, already distracted from the more physical aspects of his injury. There was no doubting it, my precious Vince was well and truly back. I just wished I was.


End file.
